


I'm not a gamble [you can count on me to split]

by slyferris (Ethsei)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Dark, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Harm, graphic descriptions of bulimia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethsei/pseuds/slyferris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything has its price, Changmin thinks, so it’s not a big deal. The freshly opened purple blue scabs on his knuckles on his hands aren’t a big deal. The fatigue, swollen cheeks, headaches, and tingling hands aren't a big deal.</p><p>He’s okay. He’s okay, he’s okay, because he’s Shim Changmin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Changmin stuck his finger down his throat, hunched over the white porcelain, mint flush fresh pack oozing into the water with bile and chunks.

Two mars bars.

_520 calories._

Fifteen Arnott’s chocolate chip cookies.

_1129 calories._

Three quarters of a Hawaiian pizza, thin crust.

_930 calories._

Half a block of Cadbury dairy milk chocolate.

_362 calories._

Half a packet of Lay’s cheese and onion chips, large.

 _550 calories_.

_3491 calories in total._

Throwing it all up? Priceless.

Well. Changmin’s rubbed raw throat burnt by acid might have something to say about that. Everything has its price, Changmin thinks, so it’s not a big deal. The freshly opened purple blue scabs on his knuckles on his right hand aren’t a big deal. The fatigue, swollen cheeks, headaches, and tingling hands aren’t a big deal.

He’s okay. He’s okay, he’s okay, and he will be okay because he’s Shim Changmin.

 

He wiped the edges of his mouth with two fingers, bile spit and sweat coming off in strings. Spitting into the toilet and flushing his latest binge down the pipes, Changmin squeezed mint green toothpaste onto his brush, scrubbing at the vile taste. Changmin had memorised the way chocolate, his favourite, tasted when coming up. Numbness coated his fingers and filled the pit in his chest that he couldn’t manage to fill otherwise. Maybe that was cause for concern. But it worked, and Changmin wasn’t complaining.

Gentle buzzing fuzzed through his brain. With the guilt washed away with the water, he almost felt like a person again. Like he could feel himself passed the fat and disgustingness that was him.

“Stupid,” he whispered to the mirror with narrowed eyes and hate coursing through his veins like red fire. “Stupid, fat, ugly piece of shit. You’re disgusting. Why did you think eating all that was a good idea? Oh, right, ‘cause you’re fucking stupid and useless.”

His cheeks were swollen from his latest purge. “Look what you’ve done. You’re just wasting everyone’s time and making things harder for everyone. You can’t go out in public like this, you ugly fuck.”

It had been four days since his last binge and purge. Four days since nothing but water, green tea, and laxatives. And he’d been doing _so_ well until today. The cravings and cramps had spiked at his stomach like thick pins, stabbing and stabbing until he caved and dug into his stash, buried beneath his hotel bed and crushed at the bottom of a spare suitcase. He raised a hand in the air and brought it down with a hard smack against his cheek, hard enough to turn his head and make his neck crick. And he brought that hand down again, and again, seven slaps against his puffy cheek. One last slap to his stomach. It stung.

He deserved it.

Splashing water over his face, Changmin unlocked the bathroom door and toed out into the hotel room he and Yunho were sharing.

“Feeling better?” Yunho asked with a sympathetic wince, looking up from his phone, glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose.

Grimacing, Changmin plopped onto his bed face first. “A bit. I think I’m going to have to see a doctor again about my stomach once we get home. It’s probably the apple I had, though. Acidic stuff does funny things to my stomach.”

The trick is to keep everything out in the open. As soon as you start trying to hide things, people notice. But when you overly inform people, they don’t get suspicious. You give them bone and they follow it like a starved dog. You have to never hide information. Tell everything.

Yunho hummed. “Yeah, your stomach’s probably just intolerant to some kinds of foods, like those people who can’t eat gluten.”

Changmin rolled onto his back and let out a sharp breath of air, hair blowing from his face. “It’s so annoying. I’m probably going to keep losing weight and look like a stick.” Satisfaction ran through his fingers and to his toes.  

“Yeah.”

Yunho crossed over to Changmin’s bed, sitting on the edge and pinching the collar of Changmin’s shirt, leaning in for a kiss. His eyes were hooded.

Changmin turned his head away at the last second, so Yunho lips hit his cheek; cold. Pure fear ripped through Changmin, lips numb and knees slack. He couldn’t let Yunho touch him. He was made of bile and fat and disgusting rolls and lumps, and he could not let him see. He would think Changmin was disgusting. He would knead the fat, feel his imperfections.

So, “not tonight, yeah?”

He blinked then leant back, hurt.

He must’ve been sick of the excuses by now. ‘I’ve got a headache, I feel sick, I’m tired, I think I’ve caught a cold, can’t – too busy tomorrow'.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” He looked at the floor, like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he moved back to his own bed, shoulders slumped and neck craned down. He gave a smile, thin lipped and strained.

Changmin yanked the blankets over his head, his hot breath fanning over him.

How much longer would Yunho wait until he wanted answers? 


	2. why do i have to name all my chapters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yunho assumes Bad Things and I steal all the Shinhwa member's names.
> 
> /mentions of sexual abuse/

Day three of the Japan tour commenced. A new city, a new show in bright light Tokyo, busy and bustling, screaming fans lining outside the venue. The atmosphere was heated and smelled of sweat and anticipation. Changmin stretched in the makeup room, his hair styled long and smooth. Tight black jeans and fitted black shirt, he was ready to perform, adrenaline rushing through him. He watched Yunho getting his hair done from the corner of his eye. Things had been tense between them after last night. Yunho seemed to be at the end of his rope with excuses. Two days ago it was a headache, the day before he was tired, then sick, and too busy, can’t, busy day tomorrow, not feeling it. Excuse after excuse. Yunho knew something was up, obviously. How could he not by this point.

His shoulders were tense. The energy that usually bounced off him in waves was coming flat. Changmin felt guilty, he really did. It was just… he couldn’t have Yunho touch him. It brought out too many thoughts and so much self-hate that he felt he would explode and cry. To try and explain that would be… troublesome.

Hyesung, their dancer, bounced into the room, his Busan accent bursting through his words. “Fuckin’ love Japan. It’s right crazy out there. Fans are going insane, I can hear ‘em from the stage and there’s still two hours ‘til the show.”

He placed a hand on Changmin’s shoulder. He flinched; the bone was hard to feel through the layers of fat. Hyesung ate and ate, and Changmin could still see his collarbones and feel the bones protruding from his shoulders. It made him burn thick with jealously.

He felt Yunho eyes on him through the mirror, considering.

“Yeah, it’s great isn’t it? Crazy.”

Hyesung grinned and plopped himself on the couch, busying himself with his phone.

Yunho had a calculative look in his eyes, and he approached Changmin right after Lou was finished with his hair. He grabbed his bicep and squeezed, and Changmin wanted to scream and yell at him to move, move, _move,_ because he was making him panic. He needed Yunho _off._

Yunho noted his distress then let go, looking at Changmin with sad, distressed eyes. “Tonight let’s have a talk, okay?”

Changmin’s stomach dropped. So many possibilities ran through his head, slide after slide, all bad and nerve wracking. He smiled through clenched teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

The show went as well as Changmin had expected. Utterly shit. He was so wrapped up in Yunho words that he missed his cues all night, dry throat and loose footed. Yunho couldn’t stop glancing at him and tried to distract the audience from the obvious tension, only succeeding in making it more apparent. The band members and dancers just looked confused. Hyesung was oblivious.

As soon as the curtain fell, Changmin was out in a flash, downing a bottle of water to try take away the everlasting itch in the back of his mouth.

The car ride home was, well, fucking awkward to be mildly put. Usually after concerts they were so high on adrenaline that they couldn’t stop joking and mucking around, laughing at dumb things uproariously. Tonight was silent.

Changmin watched the street lights flash passed, like little stars hanging on fishing rods, trying to follow them with his eyes. It gave him something to do other than worry. Junjin, their bodyguard slash driver slash caretaker, stopped outside our hotel and wished them a good night. He could tell something was up, but said nothing.

Hyesung and the rest of the dancers got off on the seventh floor while Changmin and Yunho took the elevator one more floor up. No words were exchanged until they were situated in the safety of their room. Changmin wanted to cry already.

Yunho took him by the hand and deposited him down on his bed while he stood above. His hand covered his mouth, and Changmin may have been mistaken, but it looked as if there was a wet sheen to his eyes. They were glassy, hollow, and wanted to swallow Changmin up.

“Changmin,” Yunho said through his hand, whispers of breath coming in and out between the gaps. “Did…” He took a deep breath and muttered ‘fuck’ up to the roof, eyes trained to the ceiling. He crossed his arms in on himself. “I don’t want you to—if you feel uncomfortable… I don’t want to make you upset, okay? But I need to ask, because Changmin, baby, I need to. Did somebody… did someone _hurt_ you?”

Changmin stared. His heart was thumping in his chest, and his mind was racing with confusion. “Hurt me?”

Yunho nodded. When Changmin just continued to stare, offering nothing to the conversation, Yunho tried again to coax something out of the younger boy. He looked so small…

“I don’t want to presume anything, but every time I try get near you, you get all twitchy and flinch. You won’t even let me touch you. You haven’t for the last few weeks. You haven’t been _right._ ” Yunho held out his hand in a placating manner. “It’s okay if something happened, I just want to know.”

“ _What?”_ Changmin hissed, eyes wide. “Yunho, are you asking if someone _raped_ me?”

Yunho shrugged. “Did someone?”

“No. No! Yunho, look, nothing happened, I just—I’m fine. I don’t have a problem with anyone touching me. You’re just being paranoid.”

Yunho wrapped his hand around Changmin’s bicep, one of his main problem areas. His fat sagged there so fucking disgustingly. He tried not to react. He tried to keep his cool and not give Yunho any reason to suspect anything was wrong.

“You’re shaking,” he said, tucking his hand into his chest. “If you’re fine, why’re you shaking?”

“Yunho, stop! Just stop it now…”

Yunho crouched down, eye level with Changmin. “Baby, just, I just want you to let me know what’s going on in your head, all right? I’m not here to judge you I just want to _know_ if you’re okay.”

Changmin breathed out, shaky and slow. “Yes, okay, I’m okay, and you’re turning this into something big when it’s really _not._ It’s honestly not what you’re thinking, Yunho. Okay? It’s not.”

“But there’s something,” he pushed.

Changmin said nothing and kept his eyes trained on the wall behind Yunho’ shoulder.

Yunho looked pained, but he continued to push. “Is it someone?”

“Is it about _us?”_

Changmin frowned at this. He knew his relationship with Yunho was going under strain because of him. He didn’t want to fuck things up between them like he knew he was doing. He didn’t want this at all.

He was saved from answering as his phone beeped. He’d been waiting for a text from Kyuhyun at some point; he was in the area and they’d decided to meet up and have a drink. Not that Changmin would—alcohol had too many sneaky calories to drink it leisurely. He either drank until he vomited or not at all.

Changmin held up his phone, welcoming this distraction. “I’m going out with Kyuhyun. He’s in Japan for a bit and he texted me. I might stay the night at his hotel.”

Something in Yunho seemed to click, and he shut down. His pleading expression turned cold and blank, eyebrows straining together and muscles tight. “Oh,” he simply said.

Changmin… didn’t like it. There seemed to be too much of _something_ brewing within Yunho’ mind. What was he thinking?

“Love you.” Changmin tried. It sounded like he was asking a question.

Yunho didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

He kissed the fear tingling in his spine on the way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Changmin met Kyuhyun. He did. He’d given Kyuhyun a pat on the back and floated into the crowded club, neck craned forwards. He made a few pleasantries and took a few photos, signed something or other—did what he was supposed to do. He played his part then melted into the shadows and let the thumping music touch his skin and thrum through his bones. Twenty minutes later, he was gone. He texted Kyuhyun, saying he had some work bullshit he had to attend, and even put a little smiley face on for good measure.

The people. The crowds. Eyes like hawks watching every step, fingers at the ready on their phones, just in case, and those fucking flash cameras documenting him like his whole existence was some reality show. And he looked disgusting. Every time the flashes went off they went straight to his stomach and thighs and arms and enlarged those imperfections. Ten pounds extra on camera.

He couldn’t _be_ imperfect. It just was not allowed. He was Shim Changmin, for fucks sakes. He had an image to uphold, and he had to be perfect, he was supposed to be _perfect._

So he got in his car and drove far away. Far away and desolate enough that no-one could hear the sound of his bones shattering within his skin. Far away enough that no-one could hear him cry and scream, because he’d really fucked things up now, hadn’t he? He’d fucked up the only thing he cared about besides the calories that entered his body.

He’d made Yunho sad, he’d crushed him and made him hurt because of his selfishness. Because he couldn’t hide himself well enough because he could never do _anything_ well enough. Changmin curled in his seat and wrapped his arms around his knees like a safeguard, listening to the steady beat of his heart until the sun climbed over the horizon and it was time to go. He just wished for once it would all stop.

 

He came back to an empty hotel room. Yunho’ bed was untouched, and a sinking feeling pushed at his stomach; he was filled with bottles of water and he was drowning from the inside. Because maybe, maybe this wouldn’t be the last time he would come back to an empty room with made beds and clean floors. It was so fucking empty.

Everything in his life was emptying itself out, one by one.

Except his fat, of fucking course.

 

Another day, another show, another city, another fucking public appearance in Japan, when all Changmin wanted to do was crawl into a ball and pretend like everything was okay. Like he hadn’t just potentially fucked up his relationship.

The plane ride was awful. They offered them food and drinks and because Hyesung was sitting beside him he had to shove down a sandwich.

Two slices of bread, crust cut off.

70-90 calories.

Tomato and lettuce.

10-20 calories.

Slice of ham.

???

Plastic cheese.

70-90 calories.

It panicked him not knowing the exact amount of calories. He didn’t have his fucking phone and there was no reception in the air, and his throat was closing and swelling and his eyes watering and fingers shaking. He lasted two minutes before ripping himself from his chair and into the bathroom, leaning over the seat. No room to kneel. He gagged and burped; bread didn’t come up easy for him and it slid up his throat in a chunk when he finally managed it out. He gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes shut, catching the tears in his eyelashes. It fucking _hurt._ His face was puffy and swollen, his head pounded and throbbed, ebbing, and he felt like shit but at least it was _out._ He spat the bile and chunks from his mouth and flushed it away, thanking God that planes were noisy.

“All right, mate?” Hyesung had asked when he sat back down.

He knew why. When he washed his mouth, he glanced in the mirror. He looked like he’d been crying from all the swelling and red eyes. Changmin smacked on his mint gum.

“Yeah, feeling a bit sick.”

Hyesung rubbed his back, a safe area, which was nice but unnecessary since he was better now. Having the comfort helped him sooth his mind a bit, anyway. Having someone there for him felt fucking good, even if they didn’t know what was going on.

Yunho was always there, but today he tucked himself away at the back of the plane, next to Junjin. Neither smiled the whole ride.

 

Yunho stayed with Junjin the next day. The one after that, too. Changmin had barely crossed eyes with him since he went out to see Kyuhyun. The concert would force them to interact, even minimally, and Changmin would be grateful for it. The company of only his mind and the off white hotel rooms forced him to think, and with thinking came food, and with food came vomiting.

He had binged and purged 4 times today, and his stomach and throat bit like fire on open skin. His vocal cords scratched and scathed every time he breathed, and he knew he was ruining his voice. He knew, but he didn’t _care._ He would rather rip his throat into a bloody mess than to stop and have to face the crawling anxiety in his shoulders that made him feel like a bomb waiting to explode.  

Changmin's body was made from glass, and every edge had been cutting him since the moment he learned what the word ‘fat’ meant. He wasn’t in control, and never had been, because it was always the food that won, always the food that ruled him.

All he could ever do was burn from the inside out.


	4. did you ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soz

 

Changmin hurt himself in more ways than one. When the ringing in his head played too loud like he was mid concert when really he was just alone, he took a blade to his hip and dug it in the flesh until it left a trail of blood staining his leg. He found it difficult to explain exactly why, but when the blood ran down his leg and split in rivulets while he let the shower run, he felt like he could finally breathe again, like the constant ache that pushed down on his chest let go, even just for a moment.

Changmin was always about temporary release.

The food he emptied, the skin he ripped, it was no wonder that Yunho didn’t want to stay because to Changmin, everything was temporary. They laughed together on stage, lips curved like clowns, but as soon as the curtain fell the ice sunk back in and Changmin was alone, again. He knew it was his fault for causing the rift between him and Yunho, and it only made it hurt worse.

So he binged and binged until the lining of his stomach hurt so much he was in tears, and he brought it back up again until the vomit turned to spit and bile. Yunho hadn’t spoken to him in two weeks, and Changmin was barely holding on. His consciousness wavered on the best of days. On the bad days, he slipped off to the bathroom, too weak to even vomit, and passed out on the cold tile floor, pants wet from the water on the floor when he awoke. He kept it up for those two weeks until finally his bones shattered from the outside.

Changmin stood in front of the grimy bathroom mirror, staring with hollow eyes coloured with dark shadows, so flat he couldn’t recognise himself. His teeth were rotting. His hair was falling out, and his skin was becoming so thin that every time he so much as dipped the razor into his skin it tore apart and bled until his head spun.

Changmin touched the mirror, noticing only the imperfections slashed across his body. His cheeks were fat, his stomach pouted outwards, he couldn’t fit his hands around his thighs. His body was killing him—he was killing him, but he didn’t care.

A wave of dizziness passed over Changmin and he stumbled to a bathroom stall, locking the rusted metal, the edges of his vision fading between white and black. He lowered himself to the floor and closed his eyes.

A banging on the door ripped his consciousness into motion.

“Changmin, are you okay? You’ve been in there a while,” Yunho said. He was worried, Changmin could tell. Despite Yunho’s anger at him, he still cared, and it hurt more than anything that he still did.

Changmin didn’t deserve his love.

He was too fat to deserve love, let alone life.

Changmin wanted to die.

“Say something,” he pleaded, and Changmin didn’t.

The door rattled and Changmin passed out again. He woke to a busted door and Yunho holding him in his arms, speaking words Changmin couldn’t comprehend over the white noise flooding his ears. The tiles were cold and grounding beneath him.

“What?” Changmin slurred, the world spinning slower by the moment. The dull grey bathroom fixed back to focus and Changmin saw Yunho’s red eyes and down turned lips. He wanted to kiss him, but remembered that wasn’t his right anymore.

I love you, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat.

Changmin shoved Yunho off, the feel of the arms of the one he loved the most encasing him sending him into spirals of fear so intense Changmin’s body constricted in on itself.

“What’s _wrong?_ ” Yunho begged for an answer, following Changmin, his toes nearly catching the heels of Changmin’s feet.

Changmin washed his face in the basin, staring as the water spiralled down the drain one slug at a time. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to get rid of everything in his body, starting from his fat and ending with his heart.

“Are we just going to ignore this? I’m so sick of the secrets and lying. Are we just going to stand here and act like you didn’t pass out on the floor? Are… are we just going to pretend you’re not _fucking_ someone else behind my back, Changmin?”

Changmin startled and looked up, eyes catching Yunho’s furiously sad ones in the mirror. “I’m not,” he said, lost. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

Yunho scoffed, “I’m not stupid. What am I supposed to think now that you won’t even let me touch you anymore? That when we _finally_ get to talk about it, you go off and run to _Kyuhyun_ like you’d rather be anywhere other than with me? I’ve always known he’d loved you, but I never thought you would be so shallow to use his feelings just for a fuck.”

Changmin swallowed. He wanted to yell at Yunho, tell him he was being stupid for thinking he would ever do anything to hurt him, but the part of his brain that loved and treasured his bulimia over anything in the world stopped him. It was the perfect excuse to be left alone. The two weeks without having to worry that Yunho would walk in on him had been a terrifying bliss. Without anyone to stop him, he could shatter piece by piece without anyone hearing.

He wanted to die.

 _He wanted to die, a_ nd it hurt him more than death ever could when he said, “It isn’t just fucking.”

Yunho reeled back, eyes widening like he’d expected anything but this. He stayed quiet, his throat working and lips wobbling. “Do you love me?” he demanded. “Did you ever love me?”

Changmin simply looked at him through the mirror, never once bothering to turn around though his body screamed for him to.

The door slammed shut with a bang that echoed right to Changmin’s heart. He stared after it, his eyes watering.

“I love you, you idiot.”

But God, was he too gone to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I thought I should explain because some people might be confused why Changmin didn't just deny what was between he and Kyuhyun, but in my experience when you have an eating disorder /everything/ comes second to it. if he denied he was with kyuhyun and convinced yunho nothing was happening between them, he would have to find a new excuse and it would become more apparent to yunho that something even worse was happening beyond what he could see. he didn't like hurting yunho, but felt he had no choice, because his disorder controls him, not he himself.


	5. Blood’s a hard colour to miss and apathy's always bliss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things turn to shit in a good and bad way and i rhyme the chapter title

Changmin didn’t eat anymore. He only let the calories enter his body when he needed to binge and purge. He ‘ate’ his lunch away from the staff—from Yunho, and none of them ever asked why.

He couldn’t hit the high notes in the lives anymore. He lip-sung it all now, his throat too torn to make a sound. In the privacy of his bedroom, he coughed up blood after trying to make a sound come from his throat. Still, no one asked why, as if they were afraid of what they would stumble into if they did.

Even Yunho didn’t ask why, and that’s when Changmin realised he was nothing.

Changmin was screaming for help every waking moment, stuck between wanting to be caught and wanting to keep it all a secret. He wanted to shout to everyone that he was _dying,_ fading right before their eyes while they didn’t even notice, but his bulimia held his throat like the icy grip of fingers and cut off his air supply every time he tried.

Changmin was throwing up water and stomach acid just to feel something.

The cuts on his legs multiplied until it burned when he moved walked, and seared when he danced. He bled through his clothes and only wore black. He bled and purged and exercised until there was nothing left of himself but skin and heart, and he wanted to watch them burn along with the rest of himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Changmin kept his nose above the water until he drowned in his own bathroom. Steady droplets of water dripping from his eyelashes, Yunho stood at the door, face frozen in shock.

Changmin felt a mix between heartbreak and laughter. He looked up at Yunho, so innocent as if the razor just fell into his hands. The blood washed with the water and Yunho crumbled right before his eyes.

It happened as fast as Changmin could blink, and suddenly Yunho was there, prying the razor from his fingers with wide eyes, asking, “what’s _wrong_ with you?”

Changmin almost laughed but he held it in. What _wasn’t_ wrong with him? He was screaming this whole time but his head was held underwater by his bulimia, and Yunho didn’t even see the ghost that haunted Changmin no matter how much it drained him.

Changmin looked into Yunho’s eyes and saw nothing but fear and uncertainty. He did what he always did—he shied away and curled in on himself, hiding both his body and his cuts. There wasn’t any use though, because Yunho had already seen.

Yunho grabbed him a towel and turned off the shower, throwing it over Changmin’s shoulders, finding a bright white hand towel to hold to Changmin’s thigh as the bleeding slugged to a trickle.

“Don’t,” Changmin said. “It’ll stain.”

“Changmin,” Yunho said, his voice broken. “Fuck. _Fuck._ I don’t—why are you—you look so _thin—_ when did this start?”

Changmin half-heartedly pushed away Yunho’s hands from his leg, the cotton stinging him in ways he didn’t like. “You didn’t notice, Yunho. It’s been months, and you didn’t see a thing.”

Yunho balked and rolled back on the balls of his feet. “Of course I knew something was wrong!”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” Changmin asked, not with accusation, just confusion.

Yunho didn’t have an answer.

Changmin already had one for him.

He knew it was easier to close your eyes rather than to look, because once you look, the stitches pop open and the bleeding can’t be stopped, and then you finally have to do something about it. It can’t be avoided once you’ve seen it. Blood’s a hard colour to miss and apathy's always bliss.

“But,” Yunho tried, voice thin like paper, “ _why?_ ”

Changmin waited a long time, letting the rivulets of water run over his skin, following the patterns with his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll kill yourself!”

“Why would you care?”

Yunho stood shock still, dumbfounded.

“You think I cheated on you, right? So why don’t you hate me?”

Yunho took a moment before answering, words carefully placed. “I care. Maybe I don’t want to because it fucking hurts, Changmin, but I care about you. Ilove you. I’m in love with you, and yeah you fucked up big time, and I don’t know why, but that hasn’t changed. Is this—the whole,” he gestured at the wounds, face pulled in a grimace, “because of that? Because you cheated and we weren’t… talking?”

A sharp wave of confidence and apathy came over Changmin. He no longer wanted to keep secrets. The secrets covered his mouth like the glove of a killer, leather over his lips. He wanted it to end, and maybe it was because he wanted to die, but the words tumbled from his lips one by one, each punctuated and slow. “I never cheated on you. Never. I love you too much to ever do that. I was just… trying to—trying to keep it… under the… I was trying… “

Yunho reached out a hand and held it on the base of Changmin’s neck, a small comfort, and a safe zone. Changmin didn’t flinch. “You know all those times I threw up, right? And I said it was just a stomach bug.”

Yunho nodded, slow and steady.

“It wasn’t a stomach bug, I—I did it myself. It’s why I can’t sing anymore. I used that shitty excuse that I cheated on you so you wouldn’t find out but,” he broke off with a cracked laugh.

“Jesus,” Yunho said. “Fuck. Fucking hell, how did I not notice?”

“Because you didn’t want to see it.”

Yunho gave him a look he couldn’t decipher and then stood quickly, legs snapping as he got up. “Let’s get you bandaged and then we can talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

Changmin wanted to throw up, and for the first time in months it had nothing to do with the calories he’d consumed. Yunho stared at him, brown eyes filled to the brim with words he couldn’t say.

Changmin sat on the couch, noticing for the first time how the wooden frame dug into his back. Yunho sat on the coffee table, his hands covering his mouth. He looked like he was going to cry but didn’t want to break in front of Changmin. If he did, that would make two of them that had shattered.

His cuts stung as his wriggled in his spot, his whole body thrumming with nervous energy that threatened to escape in the form of tears or screams.

Yunho opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat and his lips shook. He nibbled on his thumb then finally broke the silence with just a single dry word. “Why?”

Why…?

Because he was fat. Because he didn’t deserve to live. Because he feels nothing. Because he was nothing next to the perfect Yunho. Because he wanted to disappear. Because he wanted to die. Because there was a shopping list of things that were wrong with him that he couldn't deal with.

“I wanted to feel something,” he ended up saying. Changmin was tired of building walls so high he couldn’t even see out them himself. He wanted to open the gates and let someone in, no matter how his disorder screamed at him for being a failure, for being _weak._

Changmin hated feeling weak, but this was _Yunho._ He, of all people, deserved an explanation.

“You wanted to feel… like you were dying?” Yunho said like he wasn't even sure of the conclusion he’d come to.

Changmin wanted to lie but he didn’t. “Yes.”

“Why?” Yunho said again. He looked genuinely confused, like Changmin had taken away the corners of a puzzle piece and given it to him to solve.

“Because I hate myself, Yunho. I hate every single bit of me.” By now, Changmin’s lost eye contact and he’s staring at his toes. He wiggles them, then two drops of tears hit the wood. “Because I’m disgusted with myself every time I look in the mirror. I can’t—I’m nothing compared to everyone else. Compared to _you._ I’m ugly, and a horrible person, and I don’t deserve anything good but death.”

Yunho straightened so fast his back cracks. “Changmin,” he said very seriously, his voice dropping an octave. “Do you—are you thinking of killing yourself?”

Changmin waited for a beat, then another, and nods.

Yunho didn’t make a sound, but Changmin can hear him break.

Guilt like fire coiled in his stomach like the burning of acid when he throws up. He wanted to rake his nails through his skin and leave marks so deep they delved into his flesh. He wanted to disappear, to destroy, to be heard, to be dead.

Death would be preferable to sound of Yunho cracking, and the sob he lets out.

“But you’re beautiful,” Yunho said as if it will fix things.

The words flew right through Changmin like he’s a ghost.

“I love you. I see you every day and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. You’re amazing and talented, and you always make me laugh, I just can’t understand why you would want to end that.”

Changmin knew that Yunho wasn't lying, but he also knew that Yunho only saw the Changmin that he put forward. He felt like there were two faces he held, the one he wore in public, and the one that he sliced his razor into when he’s alone. Yunho couldn't call Changmin ugly because he didn’t know his real face. He’d glimpsed it, and he thought he still loved Changmin. He thought.

Yunho hadn’t had to deal with the other half of Changmin every day. He wondered if Yunho would still say he loved him when he’s seen him.

Yunho wiped at his eyes and sniffed, clearing his face. He took a seat next to Changmin and put an arm around his back, his hand threading through his hair on the side of his head, gently pushing him down to the crook of Yunho’s neck. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to want to die. We’re gonna get you help, baby, and you’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. “

Changmin won’t be fine.

Changmin’s never been fine.

“I love you,” he repeated like a mantra. “I love you so much, don’t you ever forget. If you ever feel like you’re going to… want to leave, tell me. I can help you. I won’t let you go through this alone.”

Yunho left him with a kiss to his temple and sat on the opposite lounge, laptop in hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yunho threw away all his razors. He thought he got them all, but he missed the one beneath the mattress. He made Changmin show him where he kept his stash of food, and he put it in the bin.

Changmin didn’t mind, because he could get new supplies anyway.

Changmin ate his meals and didn’t throw up until he was alone. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he needed to make sure Yunho thought he was better.

Yunho held him like a baby when he slept. Changmin crawled away with tiny steps and pulled the razor from below the mattress, dipping into his flesh while the birds called for early dawn, throwing up any bile he had left in his stomach to ease the pain.

Changmin said no to sex to hide the scars and cuts.

Changmin smiled and said he was feeling better, like he didn’t feel like jumping off the roof of their apartment anymore, but his insides were still stained black like ink, rotting from the incessant pain.

Changmin was still dying, and even though Yunho knew, he didn’t see.

He wasn’t sure if it hurt more when he didn’t know, or now that he did and just didn’t see.


End file.
